


Kidlet stories: Iker

by dollylux



Series: Born to Run [7]
Category: Football RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-02-04 11:33:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1777537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollylux/pseuds/dollylux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iker gets glasses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kidlet stories: Iker

"Are you sure they're okay, boy?" William peers down at his son doubtfully, fumbling with his wallet nervously in both hands. They'd saved up over the month to arrive at this moment and he wanted to make sure. He just wanted to be sure.

Iker blinks slowly, the size of his eyes made smaller by the new glasses but they're still massive. He looks up at his father and he almost gasps for how bright his world suddenly is, how vibrant. He is turning eleven years old in six days and he would swear on his short life that this is the first day he's truly seen anything.

The ride home from the city is a quiet one. His daddy has the radio on as always, Hank Williams confessing sorrows to them, but it's a lot quieter tonight. It's a clear, bright night in the dead of winter, a night where the trees are bare as scorched bone and the chill in the air slices right through you. Iker stares out the window, marveling at it all, at the tiny details he hadn't seen in years, that are as good as new to him: each spiny twig on every tree, every bright wink of every star in the blued night sky, every piece of gravel on the side of the road. His cheeks flush as he remembers the note home to his mom and dad, the one written by a concerned teacher at the way Iker would squint and lean his way through class, at the way his homework was always spot-on but he flunked the in-class assignments written on the board. His father hadn't believed it at first, refused to believe that his son could need glasses at ten years old. They had squabbled over it late that night in hushed whispers, the conversation dotted with words like "bills" and "broke" and "Bill, I just don't know." Iker assumed his father won the argument because he didn't get the glasses he needed. Didn't even bring it up again until he had come home with a second note a couple of months later, delivered by a flushed-face, apologetic Iker who had mumbled about trying real hard and everything being blurry. The tears in his eyes made everything even blurrier and his mother won the argument that night.

He glances over at his father now who is staring out at the road, body tired from a long day's work and from ailments no one even knew of yet. He feels Iker's gaze and turns to look at him, giving him a smile that looks awkward but earnest on his face and Iker's heart soars because he can see all of his daddy's wrinkles, every one of them, even the handsome ones around his eyes. He beams back at his father and looks back out the window, gazing contentedly into the houses they pass, the well-lit windows displaying proudly domestic scenes: the flicker of televisions, the twinkle of multi-colored Christmas lights, the sight of children playing in the middle of the livingroom floor, of a husband wrapping strong arms around his wife as she dries dishes. He takes it all in with a newborn's eyes.

He closes his eyes when he feels his father's hand push up into the back of his hair to ruffle it affectionately but it stays there the whole way home and Iker doesn't want to open his eyes because he doesn't want to ruin this, he doesn't want to remember anything but this simple affection from his father, but his warm, strong hand on his chilly skin.

Years later, many pairs of glasses later, Iker will still hold onto that first pair like they're a charm, a talisman. They will be the last gift he receives from his father who will die on Christmas Eve that year, one week and four days after Iker's eleventh birthday.


End file.
